


Shades Of The Sea

by TheStarsUntold



Category: Vis a Vis | Locked In (Spain TV)
Genre: A little bit of Zulema being soft perhaps, Arguing, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Macarena is not to be underestimated thank you, Two chapters and a myriad of emotions, fluff is an understatement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:39:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28375560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStarsUntold/pseuds/TheStarsUntold
Summary: “You know, considering we won’t be left with much of a choice aside from pizza again soon, maybe we should head down to the store for some pesto. I remember there still being a pack of spaghet—“Amidst suggesting dinner plans, the sound of the front door closing rudely interrupted her. Dumbfounded and admittedly pretty offended, Maca blinked before rushing over to the window in the living room. She squinted, fixating her eyes upon the sidewalk from the 5th floor.“She went the other way,” she internally complained, “dammit, she’s avoiding me.”ORAfter Zulema and Macarena go through a heated argument, Zulema is nowhere to be found. Not an unusual occurrence, one would say. Not until Maca finds evidence indicating that it is.
Relationships: Estefanía "Rizos" Kabila/Saray Vargas, Macarena Ferreiro/Zulema Zahir
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	1. The yellow bird and (the absence of) the scorpion.

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic that took me a while, but here it is. I sincerely hope you’ll enjoy reading this two-chapter series of unfortunate (and fortunate?) events!

“Ow! _Joder—“_ Macarena cursed after accidentally stabbing herself with a needle, missing the green silk she clutched with her left hand. With a loud groan, she stuck her finger into her mouth to stop the bleeding. “I swear to god, this is the _last_ time I’m fixing your clothes, Zule. I get that you were angry, but please reconsider next time you decide to _set yourself on fire_ just to prove a point.” 

Maca looked up when no sarcastic comment followed her statement. She knew Zulema wasn’t quite the talkative type, but whenever she’d say something that regarded her, such as right at that moment, she would at least respond with a monosyllabic “Sure,” to protect her pride.

“Come on grumpy, I know you’re not sleeping.”

Still nothing. At this point, Maca started questioning whether Zulema hadn’t left the apartment without her noticing, or whether she’d forgotten her mentioning she was heading out. Perhaps she’d actually gone to sleep? She knew that the last option was unlikely, but momentarily, it was the one thing that couldn’t lead to anything bad.

Increasingly feeling less comfortable with being clueless, Maca rushed sewing another hole shut on Zulema’s turquoise jacket. She got up, neatly folded it on her knee, and left it in the chair she’d been sitting in for the past 3 hours. Entering the hallway, she squinted at the clock in the kitchen.

“You know, considering we won’t be left with much of a choice aside from pizza again soon, maybe we should head down to the store for some pesto. I remember there still being a pack of spaghet—“

Amidst suggesting dinner plans, the sound of the front door closing rudely interrupted her. Dumbfounded and admittedly pretty offended, Maca blinked before rushing over to the window in the living room. She squinted, fixating her eyes upon the sidewalk from the 5th floor.

 _“She went the other way,”_ she internally complained, _“dammit, she’s avoiding me.”_

Zulema knew Maca always watched her leave when she took off after sunset, so she always made sure to take a left when she exited the apartment building, as that side of the street was observable from their livingroom window. A simple, small gesture the brunette would probably _never_ admit to. Similarly, she always let herself in first whenever she opened a door just to come across as rude, while she actually did it to shield Maca from potential danger by throwing herself into the line of fire.

The scenario from a few weeks prior, when Maca went clubbing, also served as a perfect example. Zulema hadwaved her off with a blunt “Don’t come back if you start puking,” just to pretend to be asleep once she returned, so she could ‘unconsciously’ throw an arm around the blonde as she entered the bed. Little things like these allowed Zulema to keep her cold demeanor whilst ascertaining that the love of her life stayed safe and without worry. And while Maca loved that about her, she couldn’t love Zulema’s secretiveness.

Because _boy_ , could it be exhausting.

Averting her eyes from the window, Macarena wearily dropping herself onto the couch. Her gaze shifted upon the painting hanging from the wall above the kitchen counter, a Christmas gift she’d given to Zulema the year before. The painting depicted an open sea drawn with two shades of blue, which perfectly fit Maca’s description of Zulema. The way she saw it, Zulema had a bright side, and like shells in a clear blue sea, that allowed Maca to discover sweet things about the brunette from time to time. She fucking _loved that_ about her. But, as nature shows, the ocean consists mainly of a different shade of blue; a deep, dark one. Like the center of the Pacific Ocean, which is what Maca would associate most of Zulema’s character with. Its exterior is beautiful and it’s filled with many wondrous things, but it’s absolutely unreadable. Sailing the Great Pacific, you have no idea what’s beneath you until it breaks the dark blue surface. And even when that happens, you’ll remain clueless because many things reside so deep within the ocean, that they’ve never seen the light of day. And no one is to say they ever will.

Maca noticed the resemblance between that fact, and Zulema’s reserved nature and lack of emotional expression. She never knew if she was quiet simply because she likes to be, or because something was actually bothering her. Her roommate was a master at concealing, replacing, _and_ faking emotions. And that’s what killed the blonde.

It killed her because there was nothing she could do about it.

* * *

….. _Tock, tick, tock, tick—_

Maca turned her head to look at the clock. She’d finally reached the point of waiting in silence where your ears start to pick up sounds they usually don’t focus on. Taking another sip of her drink didn’t help her relax this time, for the feeling of cold green tea on her lips only made her grimace as she hastily put her cup back down.

“Fuck it. I need some kind of answer _._ ”

The blonde glanced at the phone that lay temptingly close to her hands on the kitchen counter. Her fingers started tapping the marble countertop.

_“But what if the answer’s worse than the question?”_

Maca bit down on her bottom lip as she indecisively moved her hand back and forth until she finally gathered the boldness to grab the device. Inevitably, a wave of regret washed over her when she typed in a number, but she still pressed ‘ _call_ ’.

“Please, please, _plea—_ “

Maca snapped her head back at the coffee table behind her, where the source of a peculiar buzzing noise started inching closer to the edge of the table with every wave of vibration.

_“Zulema Zahir leaving something behind that could easily direct someone to even the slightest bit of personal information?”_

“This is bad,” Maca said with a troubled sigh.

She looked back down at her phone and swiped to dial a different number. This one also left her nervous, since this contact had remained untouched in her phone for over a year now. But other options weren’t really on the table at the moment.

_Beep… beep… beep… beep…_

“Please, not you too,” the blonde begged, her fingers crossed.

 _Beep_ … _beep_ … _beep_ … “ _Helloes_?”

Greeted with a loud, upbeat voice, Maca jumped out of her skin. Not only due to the volume but also because whoever picked up didn’t sound like the person she called.

“Excuse me, I’m calling Saray Vargas’ phone, no?”

“Si,” the callee confirmed as they popped some type of crispy food into their mouth.

It wasn’t Saray. But, unless her emotions were messing with her head, it wasn’t a stranger either.

Maca swallowed. “Rizos?”

The callee abruptly stopped chewing. It instantly caused Maca to second-guess her words, wondering if she’d misheard the familiar tone in the person’s voice.

“Macarena?” The girl on the other line asked in utter disbelief.

“No way,” the blonde uttered, before quickly correcting herself, “I—I mean _yes_. Yes, it’s me, _no way_ it’s you.”

“I’m… I’m sorry, I’m at a loss for words.”

“No me too, this would’ve been way easier if we reunited in person, and I could give you a hug.”

“No definitely, definitely,” Rizos replied, trying to cope with the amount of excitement that had just hit her.

A smile spread across Macarena’s face. She’d braced herself to soldier through a quick call with Saray, knowing that she liked to play around in the worst times possible, but what she was met with instead was far from that. It was rather serendipitous, which quickly got her carried away.

“How… how are you?”

“I’m okay, but what about you? It’s been years, _rubia!_ ”

Maca chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Pretty laid back at the moment, to be honest.”

“Damn, that’s about the last thing I expected to hear from the girl who shares a home with Zulema Zahir,” Rizos joked.

“Ha-ha, actually I— _wait_ , how do you know that?”

“Saray told me. She said you guys had been getting busy.”

Maca choked. “We… well I— we uhm—“

“You can’t tell, but I’m wiggling my eyebrows.”

“No, I know.”

Rizos smiled. “You haven’t changed, Maca.”

“Oh no, I very much beg to differ. Cruz del Sur me is _definitely_ gone.”

She knew it shouldn’t have, but that sentence hit Rizos right where it hurt. Sure, Cruz del Sur had long been in the past and she’d moved on since she and Maca said their goodbyes. Residing in a beach house that was not too far from a lively no-sleep city, Rizos was living the dream and she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

But the pain she felt wasn’t regret or envy, it was a result of the unhealthy will she had to enjoy Maca’s love while it lasted. The sudden range of memories that came flowing in to show her exactly _what_ was ‘definitely gone’.

“Rizos, are you still there?”

“ _Yes_ , yes I am, sorry,” Rizos quickly answered, forced out of her train of thoughts, “What uhh… why did you call, actually?”

Just when Maca was about to respond, another voice blared through the speakers of her phone.

“Oye, _mi amor_ , _mi corazon_ , what are you doing calling with my phone? Is that coworker calling you again? Let m— come n— c’mere, lemme talk to him.”

A series of loud sounds, laughter, and muffled voices caused Maca to move the phone further away from her ear.

“Fuck, _Gitana_ , go drink some water!”

“Can’t do babe, est—estoy _enamorado!_ _It’s gonna take a lot to drag me away from you!_ ” A woman, who could only be Saray, broke out into song as she tried to make Rizos put the phone down.

Maca immediately remembered why she initially called, and how calling Rizos had just cost her 20 minutes of the time she didn’t have. “Oh! Saray, can I speak to you?”

Rizos clicked her tongue. “That won’t be easy, rubia. Today marks our anniversary, and during our celebration tonight on the beach, she hasn’t exactly gone easy on the tequila.”

“I just need to know if she knows Zulema’s current whereabouts, or whether she has any idea where I may find her. I kind of assumed she knows her better than I do.”

Before Rizos could even call out her name, Saray’s voice reappeared. “Roses are blue, violets are red, my— no, Roses are violets, blue—“

“Alright, Saray, _Saray,_ ” Rizos repeated before whistling with her fingers in a desperate attempt to interrupt her girlfriend’s serenade, “Maca’s asking if you know where Zulema is.”

Finally, Saray grabbed the phone and nearly pressed her lips against the speaker to ask, “Zule? Old friend, whe—what’s the job? _“_

 _“_ This is Macarena, I called to ask you where she is. _”_

“Shit, Maca, _No puto se_.”

Maca’s mood instantly shifted. She stared into her cup, pointlessly stirring the cold, leftover tea to raise the suspended solids off the bottom with a teaspoon.

“Do you have any idea where she _could_ be?”

“With Zule you never know, but if Z— if she didn’t tell you, she doesn’t want you to know. That usually means it’s business.”

For some reason, Maca hadn’t thought about the last thing Saray mentioned before.

Rizos quickly retrieved the phone before Saray could drop it into the sea. “Rubia, I say you try to contact her again but _please_ , think twice before scanning the area. Interfering in Zulema’s business would be a disaster waiting to happen. I reckon it’s best if you give it a rest, maybe find a distraction.”

Maca nodded, relaxed her brows, and took a deep breath. “You’re probably right, thank you.”

“No problemo. I’m here if you need me, remember?”

“Always,” the blonde smiled.

Before Rizos could respond, Saray rid her of that option by grabbing her phone back and holding it out of her girlfriend’s reach. Most of the following conversation was inaudible, but Maca was pretty certain she heard Saray beltout the main verse of ‘La lista de la Compra’ right before the call abruptly ended.

Macarena sighed, massaging her temples. She glanced at the clock again, which now read ‘00:26’. There was no denying it, sitting around waiting only aggravated the situation. With this mess stirring up chaos in her head, she couldn’t even take the time to let the unexpected situation that had just occurred sink in. Something had to happen, and fast.

Swiftly, the blonde stood up and, taking Rizos’ advice, she scanned the room for a distraction. Contacting Zule was no option, for she’d left her phone on the coffee table.

“Oh shit, right,” she exclaimed upon noticing the overflowing laundry basket by the bathroom door. She’d totally forgotten about it after the fight she had with Zulema earlier that day, which started because of that. Because of its content, to be precise, which Maca vividly remembered once she lifted the basket and an unfathomable stench nearly made her lose the content of her stomach.

The last crime the pair committed ultimately led to them having to route their way through a sewer system after a mafia boss had caught on to Zulema’s foul play. It was always a backup plan she had available, but it didn’t clear them of the dangers that chased them through every pipe until they managed to throw them off by using the brunette’s old secret passageways. It also failed to save them from a flat tire, some nasty bruises, and a gunshot wound to Maca’s right arm. Fortunately, the bullet only tore through the upper part of the blonde’s skin, so it never reached her bone, and removing it was basically a piece of cake. But that didn’t mean that Maca could let it slide. She didn’t comment on it, either. Not until earlier that day, when she’d told Zulema to do the laundry, to which she dared to reply: “Not by myself, I did that last time.”

That’s when she’d had enough. Remaining conflict-avoidant wasn’t worth being walked all over. She made that quite clear by saying “It wasn’t a question. You don’t have a bullet wound in your arm.”

“I told you to duck,” was Zulema’s only response to that, which was the final straw for Maca.

Quite a heavy conflict broke out, but it really went out of hand when the blonde stated at the top of her lungs that she was quitting the crime life. She argued that she’d been thinking about it for a while and that the near-death experience in the sewer was enough for her to make a final decision.

“I know you fixed the flat tire, but the car is still mine. So I think it would be fair if I take it with me on my leave by the end of this week,” she’d told her partner.

Hit with a myriad of emotions, Zulema emitted misplaced laughter before going, “Remember when we burned our last car? That was my car, the car you smothered in evidence of a hit and run.”

“That man almost drowned you. Plus, he survived.”

“It was not worth my car, Maca,” the brunette hissed back as she stormed out of the room, Maca following right after her, “but we burned it together for _your_ sake. And I bought you our current one as a gift because you saved my life.”

“And I could’ve lost mine to that bullet, all because of a scheme _you_ dragged me into but failed to pull off!” The blonde shouted over her, “I don’t see how you could possibly be surprised that I want out of all of this.”

It took Zulema a minute to respond to that, but when she did, there was no trace of her usual sarcasm. No trace of anything but solemness.

“When you came to pick me up because you didn’t want me to feel the way you did, you could’ve told me you weren’t planning on staying. Because I wouldn’t have been in this situation. I wouldn’t have been stranded right now, because I wouldn’t have burned my _fucking_ —“

Within her outburst, the brunette recklessly elbowed a burning candle, tipping it right onto her jacket. And before she could react, the flame had already made its way up her sleeve. Maca’s anger immediately subsided and she frantically looked for a towel to put it out, which marked the end of their fight. From that moment on, the two hadn’t shared another word. Neither of them knew what to make of the situation. Which brought her right where she was at the moment, laundry basket in her hands, reminiscing about events surrounding the god awful smell.

The stench haunted her all the way down to the first floor of the building and all throughout the short walk down the street to her car, which was parked inside the garage of one of Zulema’s old friends.

“ _Ugh_ … I’m not rinsing this car if the smell sticks, you better keep that in mind, _puta_ ,” Maca swore as she loaded the basket into the trunk with a face of utter disgust.

* * *

A bump in the road forced Maca out of her stare. “ _Joder_ …” she cursed, before regaining her wandering gaze upon the bright city lights across the river she was driving over. It was as if she was witnessing New York city at midnight.

The breathtaking sight triggered one of her most treasured memories. An inconvenient one for the time being, for the flickering red lights in the distance brought her right back to the time she and Zulema spent their first Christmas together.

Dozing off into a daydream, Maca recalled the delightful atmosphere that hung in the air in their apartment on that Saturday night in late December. She remembered the smell of freshly baked gingerbread men, the sizzling sound of the fireplace in the living room, Christmas music playing softly in the background… and the way Zulema was having none of it.

“Zule, what do you want me to put on your hot chocolate?”

Zulema side-eyed Maca standing in the kitchen sprinkling mini marshmallows into a mug, a can of whipped cream sticking out of her back pocket. “Cyanide. Oh, and just a sprinkle of Brodifacoum for extra flavor,” she answered casually, then instantly looked back down at her book to avoid Maca’s glare.

The blonde rolled her eyes. She put down the marshmallows, brushed some sugar off her hands, and approached her roommate. Without a word, she sat down on the coffee table across from her and started staring into her eyes as Zule supposedly read a book.

“What?” The older woman growled, giving in to Maca’s distraction technique out of sheer aggravation.

“Please drop the ‘I hate Christmas because it doesn’t fit my aesthetic’ act, you sound like a cliché high school bad girl from a 2010 kid’s show. I know you, you love Christmas.”

“I don’t hate Christmas,” the brunette said as she closed her book and placed it beside her on the couch, “I hate the way you exploit it.”

“Define ‘ _exploit’_ ,” Maca replied, admittedly a little offended.

“Well, as if the lack of a tree wasn’t bad enough, you also decided to put on the most modern Christmas music, there’s no snow outside, the mood lights on the ceiling are supposed to serve as Christmas lights, the cookies are burning and your sweater isn’t even a Christmas sweater, you just decided to buy the first knitted piece of clothing you saw at the dollar store that depicted an antlered animal. That’s not Rudolph, that’s a moose.”

The blonde blinked, her forehead creasing. “Uhm, exactly _how_ is it my fault that it’s not snowing? Oh, and in my defense, this sweater was on sale in the festive aisle.”

“I’d be more concerned about the fifth thing I mentioned,” Zulema talked back to her exactly two seconds before the smoke detector in the kitchen started blaring.

Maca jumped up and hurriedly pulled the tray out of the oven, revealing a neatly arranged line of pitch-black gingerbread men. She left them in for so long that they had stuck to the positions they were put in on the tray before she stuck it into the oven, given the fact that they wouldn’t fall when she turned it upside down.

Zulema snorted. “You’re better at burning men than Sole.”

Instantly throwing her a glare for her insensitive remark, Maca responded with a sarcastic “ha-ha,” before making her way back over to the frustrating brunette. “Alright, if you’re on a judge-everything-I-do spree… give me your opinion on that thing up there.”

Following the direction Maca’s eyes were pointing in, Zule looked up at the mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. “If I knew what the fuck that was, I would.”

“Oh come on, seriously? Mistletoes are among the best aspects of Christmas!” The blonde stated excitedly, to which Zulema reacted with nothing but a puzzled expression. “Do you… do you want me to show you how it works?”

“What do you mean _‘how it works’_? Unless you’re gonna tell me that plant is some kind of secret weapon, I don’t thin—“

Before she could finish her sentence, the woman’s lips were sealed by a tender kiss Maca planted on them as she pulled her up to stand directly under the mistletoe. It caught her off guard, despite her attentive nature.

Caught in the moment, the two opened their eyes at the same time. This romantic energy didn’t last, however, for Zulema’s very next move was to burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Zulema wheezed, “just the fact that someone looked for an object to tie a romantic kissing tradition to and decided that the most appropriate item would be a plant with the word ‘toe’ in its name.”

Maca sighed. “There’s a history behind it.”

“Now I know what Saray wants for Christmas, if you can hand me my phone I’ll note it down right away.”

“That’s not how— you know what, forget it. You could’ve just said you hate this too.”

Catching her breath, Zulema audibly exhaled. “Don’t put words in my mouth, rubia,” she uttered, before placing both hands on the blonde’s face and pulling her in for a second, more passionate kiss. The two accompanied each other in a state of shared delight as they relocated to the couch.

“Get off the road, Grandma!”

A loud beep from behind her nearly put Macarena into cardiac arrest. Her previously closed eyes sprung open and she grasped onto the steering wheel to narrowly avoid crashing the vehicle.

“Read the plate, _hijo de puta!_ ” She shouted at the bypassing driver, referring to her car’s iconic ‘FUCKYOU’ license plate.

The woman groaned, running a hand through her wavy locks. As much as she didn’t like to admit it, the asshole she just yelled at may have saved her life. She came to the realization that the raven-haired woman had become a dangerous distraction to her mind, as her absence was the root cause of the reoccurring memories. It started to frustrate her, more than it worried her before. That woman’s inconsideration wasn’t about to be the death of her, she knew that much.

“I swear to god, I’m _this_ close to seeing the good side of this, Zulema,” Maca swore as she exhaled through her nose and peeked at the empty seat beside her, “maybe it’s better if you say wherever you are because maybe this is what I needed.”

For a reason she was unable to put into words, that sentence didn’t sit right with her, so she worded it differently. “It is what I needed.”

 _“…is it?”_ Maca’s thoughts interfered.

“Yes, it is.”

_“Then where’s the relief?”_

Maca tightened her grip on the steering wheel as her foot pressed down on the gas. “I’ll get over this. I’ll get over it once I focus on the fact that I won’t have to find a new place to stay, and I never have to speak to her again.”

That statement caused her breathing to accelerate. Grinding her teeth, she continued, “I will never have to see her again. Which means I’ll never have to deal with any more of her sh—“

Maca abruptly cut herself off when a loud popping sound made her heart skip a beat. Losing control of the vehicle, she immediately stomped on the brakes with all her might, making her all but unlucky that there was no one behind her at the moment. She swerved the car to the side of the road and into the grass, where it, fortunately, came to a halt.

It was at this point that the blonde was too overwhelmed to comment, and all she could do was drop her head into the car horn at the center of her steering wheel. Boiling tears stilled her fury directed at the brunette. She was still angry, but rather about the fact that she felt so confused. Because she knew things weren’t working out between her and Zulema, but she couldn’t help but feel like something was missing at the thought of abruptly removing herself from their companionship.

Something told her that it wasn’t the answer she was looking for.

But the problem wasn’t up to her to fix, that was certain.

Macarena dropped her head and proceeded to sob into her arms, hands still clutching the steering wheel. Her disorientation left her unable to read her thoughts as they overflowed her mind, so all she could do was pour them all out. She needed a moment to gather herself together, and that was easier said than done. Because it’s hard to get a grip when you don’t know what to grab on to.

Several minutes went by, but Maca didn’t move from her spot. Not until she opened a window, and a strong smell of tobacco hit her. Obviously, this wasn’t an unnatural occurrence, but she was in no state to ignore her gut. She exited her car and right when she crossed the line where the grass beneath her met sand, a dark-haired figure in the distance came into view. The figure had settled on the beach fairly close to the ocean, but just not close enough for the water to reach their feet. The relief Maca felt was instantly replaced by frustration, which she wasn’t afraid to act upon.

“…Evening.”

Reading Maca’s facial expression, Zulema quickly faced the ocean again after looking up when the blonde tossed the older’s phone in the sand beside her.

“It’s two in the morning, which you would’ve known if you didn’t leave your phone in the apartment when you decided to _disappear_.”

“I didn’t ask you to look for me.”

“Well I didn’t ask to care, but knowing you I could’ve been expecting a hitman at my door at any second,” Maca sneered as she sat down, “but surprisingly, that wasn’t the case, so what the hell _is_ the big idea?”

Before answering Macarena’s question, the brunette took a good puff of her cigarette and let her feet sink into the sand. “I’m rejoicing.”

“Zule, I’m not in the mood for your sarcasm. _Spill_.”

“Who says I’m being sarcastic?”

“Okay listen, I know you think less when you’re angry. I watched you bat at my vanilla candle and literally set yourself aflame this morning.”

“That was a _heated_ fight.”

“You were upset about me taking the car if we split ways,” Maca continued, ignoring Zulema’s remark, “so what was it this time that triggered another insufferable dramatic reaction? _Dime_.”

“I bought that car _and_ the license plate.”

“Right, explain to me why you _walked_ all the way here just to smoke then.”

“I like the beach.”

Maca pressed her palms against her forehead and sighed. She finally took a moment to take a good look at the woman beside her. It didn’t take her long to notice the green stains on the cuffs of her black bomber jacket, which led her eyes directly to Zulema’s face. Her eyeshadow looked unusually messy. The half-empty pack of cigarettes in the sand beneath her legs now also caught her attention. She studied her until she’d gathered enough evidence to conclude that Zulema wasn’t out for business, nor did she simply intend to taunt her.

Swallowing her words, Maca fixated her eyes onto the ocean ahead of them. It reminded her of the painting in their apartment. Watching the city lights glitter in the dark blue waves, she tried to think of a way to apply this to the metaphor she made earlier.

Until Zulema filled it in for her.

"Macarena?" she asked, which already caught Maca off guard since she barely ever used her full first name.

When the blonde turned her head, the brunette immediately dropped hers. But, knowing how little sincerity she gave off by doing that, she quickly lifted her chin to make direct eye contact with her partner instead. More than anything, these words had to roll off her tongue with nothing but genuineness.

"I'm sorry."

Zulema’s eyes repeatedly darted from the blonde’s left eye to the other before she continued.

"I'm so... I'm so sorry," she added as her gaze fell back down to her feet, “for everything.”

Taken aback, Maca didn't know what to say, so she just proceeded to listen.

"In my life, good things have never come my way, so I made a habit out of finding them myself and keeping them with me at all cost. I kept a scorpion in a box for _7 years_ until I thought I'd reached my freedom. I let it go, just because I thought I wouldn't need its company anymore outside of that cell. That I wouldn’t feel alone anymore. At the time, it didn’t even phase me that it barely remembered how to walk.”

Maca remembered that little thing vividly. And the number of times she’s avoided walking in on her while she was interacting with it, which was hard to tell since she talked to it as if they were having a conversation.

“I recall you once telling me you had a pet too, a yellow bird,” Zulema continued, “you set it free right before you went to prison. And that’s how we’re different.”

Maca couldn’t help but crack a smile at Zulema’s metaphor. “What exactly are you implying, Zule?”

“When you picked me up on my day of release, I was surprised. Not just because of the fact that someone was awaiting me, but also the sheer fact that it was you. I couldn’t think of a single reason why you would ever want to see my face again.”

The blonde swallowed her tongue again. Zulema genuinely expressing self awareness was as unusual to her as it was to the brunette herself.

“I also didn’t expect my first plans after I left that hellhole to change from going to a fish restaurant to visiting my daughter’s grave,” the older shrugged with a misplaced chuckle, “the only thing I was certain about, was that the upcoming years were going to continue to be lonely. But then there you were, disputing the only thing I was sure of. As you do.”

The two shared a short round of laughter, and their eyes found each other’s as they did.

“Thing is, I don’t own you, rubia. And I was wrong for acting as if I did. It isn’t what you deserve for what you’ve done for me. But I thought—”

Zulema scratched the back of her head, pausing for a moment in attempt to find a less direct way to say what she was about to say. But she was unsuccessful.

“I thought, with the partnership in crime we had going on, that there would be no way I could lose you.”

That was it. At that brief moment, Maca finally found the perfect way to tie the city lights reflecting in the sea to her metaphor; it resembled the goodwill that shone within the brunette, and her will to achieve redemption. This source of light usually flickered vaguely, but ever since Zulema saved her from that washing machine, Maca had been able to notice it.

But at that very moment, it was beaming. Because just like the city lights dancing in the sea, when she let it shine through in her darkest times, it was exceptionally apparent.

“So I guess I just wanted to ask you if we could kick it somewhere downtown before you left, or something like that. Maybe we could catch a movie, or have lunch at that pesky ice cream place you like so much. Or, I don’t know, just—“

“I’d like that,” Maca cut in.

When Zulema noticed the blonde was smiling at her, she swiftly changed the subject. “Anyways, you were on your way downtown, no? Were you on your way to do laundry?”

“ _You’re_ doing the laundry, you owe me that.”

On their way back to the car, the two didn’t share a word. Not until Zulema stopped to bend down when she saw the prominent tire tracks on the road.

“You might want to reconsider claiming that car.”

“Andyoumight want to _consider_ shutting up and fixing the hole in the tire you didn’t seal well.”


	2. Swimming in red.

“Damn, what died in there?” Zulema grimaced, holding the laundry basket at a stark distance from her face.

“No one, as long as you don’t judge my driving skills again,” Maca fiendishly smiled as she held the door to the laundromat for her.

The place was completely empty at this hour. Not having to mind other visitors, Zulema started dividing clothes by their colors into different washing machines. Maca watched her from atop the one next in row from the machines she was using, her feet dangling before her. Zulema was still avoidant of eye contact after their previous conversation, so she pretended not to notice the blonde’s gaze.

“ _Please_ _G_ _od, for just this once,”_ she thought to herself, _“please don’t let her break the—_ “

“Zule?”

“ _Silence_.”

“Si?”

“Why did you leave your phone on the coffee table?”

“I don’t know, I was in a hurry.”

“Yes, you do.”

The brunette side-eyed Maca before closing the last washing machine and gathering herself up from the ground. “No, I don’t. Not everything has an untold truth behind—“

“You were afraid I would forget about you.”

The older woman wheezed. “Now that’s just far fetched.”

“Is it?” Maca asked as she held up Zulema’s phone with the lock screen open, displaying an all too familiar polaroid picture in the background.

Just like that, the brunette was quiet.

“Alright, come here.”

Zulema didn’t even respond to that, as she straight up pretended not to hear her due to the commotion of the raging machines.

“ _Come here!_ ” Maca insisted again, patting a spot on the washing machine she was sitting on.

When her demand was ignored once again, the blonde let out a breathy sigh as she hopped down, grabbed the woman’s wrist, and dragged her along with her. Settling herself back on the machine, the blonde took a brief moment to look at Zulema’s face before going, “You’re a mess, you know that?”

“Did you call me over just to tell me that?”

Maca laughed, but before Zule could comment on that too, the younger woman’s hand landing on the side of her face made her swallow her words.

“It’s cute,” Macarena added.

Zulema chuckled and broke the eye contact as to refrain from flushing. “You know I despise that term.”

“I do.”

A short silence arose. It made Zulema nervous, to say the least. Apologizing always landed her in a vulnerable state, which she disliked in every way. Her eyes remained stuck on the blue laces of Maca’s hoodie. Usually, she’d be twirling them around her fingers, but not in this state. Her arms were frozen, pressed down on the washing machine by each of Maca’s sides.

“Zulema?”

The raven-haired woman pretended not to hear her as she backed up the lower part of her body to stretch.

“Zulema.”

She wasn’t afraid to talk, nor did she not know what to say. Shy was the last thing she was.

“Zule...”

_It wasn’t fear she felt._

“Why won’t you look at me?”

_It was temptation._

_Far too much of it, in a vulnerable state._

Macarena’s free hand found Zulema’s chin, and she lifted it for her eyes to directly meet hers. And the mere second the older dove into those honey-brown pearls, she found herself stuck in them.

The pair met halfway as they leaned in with equally as much desire. Audible exhales escaped them, which was only narrowly drowned out by the sound of the washing machine. Zulema’s hands abandoned their stiffness along with the rest of her body as one dug into Maca’s wavy locks and the other grasped her behind. Nothing could hold her back when Macarena took advantage of her arousal.

The blonde needed this too, for it cleared her mind of every anxiety that haunted her that evening. Wrapping her legs around Zulema’s waist to keep her as near to her as possible, she rid the woman of her bomber jacket and T-shirt to get closer to the warmth of her body.

The soft touch of Maca’s hands caressing Zulema’s skin, the heat of the brunette’s bare back under the blonde’s palms, the two shared the same blissful sensation. As the kiss became increasingly impassioned, Maca moaned each time Zulema’s tongue entered her mouth. That mellifluous sound was music to the older woman’s ears. Especially when she was the root cause of it.

Because there was little she loved more than the fair blonde voicing her lust for her. The sound of her desperately craving Zulema’s touch, longing for her expertise; it was her favorite fucking song. _literally_.

Maca shortly interrupted the session to take off her hoodie, which directly reminded her she wasn’t wearing a bra. And before Zulema could even process that, the blonde’s right hand guided hers to her breasts as they locked lips again. As the tension starkly arose, Zulema was drawn up onto the line of washing machines by Maca for their bodies to collide horizontally. Looking for something to properly hold on to, the blonde’s hand found the red lever that was on the wall behind her, which singlehandedly switched off all of the ceiling lights in the laundromat. The only remaining source of light was that of the red ‘open’ sign by the door, which perfectly fit the atmosphere.

Right there, figuratively and literally, Maca met yet another color of the ocean; red. One you would witness the moment the sun meets the line that separates the sea and the sky. Like a sunset on a beach, and like no other, Zulema was able to take control of the atmosphere and paint it red.

She painted it red with passion, and ultimately, _pleasure_.

Relishing the way the brunette’s body was grinding against hers, Maca eventually lost her focus on the kiss. Zulema noticed this and moved onto her neck instead. What only made it harder for the blonde to control herself, was the fact that they had moved over to the washing machines that were in motion. So basically, Maca found herself floating in a red ocean, merely moving towards the edge of a waterfall.

And the closer she got, the more she craved the feeling of cascading down.

She urged for it, as Zulema could tell by the raising pitch in her voice and the way she was thrusting her hips. Fortunately for the blonde, after everything that had happened that day, there was no reason for the brunette to refrain from giving her this.

“I’ll look at you,” Zulema stated as her hand slipped into Maca’s leggings, “if you can ask me again.”

“Mì…m—mìr…mìra…” the woman stammered, her back arching uncontrollably.

Ever so fiendishly, the brunette’s fingers made this task almost impossible for Macarena as they danced over her delicate spot.

“Mìram—m—me—“ she tried again.

“What was that?”

As Zulema’s index and middle finger flicked her clit, hitched breaths continuously interrupted her attempts. This caused a compelling urge to grow within Zulema; she wanted to tease her. To edge her, until she cried out the words. But she had to contain herself, it was the least Maca deserved that day.

“¡M—mìrame!” Maca shouted, her eyes jamming shut, “ _¡Mìrame!_ ”

The brunette sped up the motion. “That’s not a question, rubia.”

“Fuck you!”

With a sardonic smile, Zulema merely slid her fingers through the holes of Maca’s panties and gave it a good tug. With the boost of pressure, the blonde cried out a moan as her body released its tenseness all over. She heaved euphoric breaths, knowing full well it was going to take her body a while to cease convulsing after that.  
  


* * *

_ 04:53 AM _

Zulema let out a sigh through her nose. She turned her head to stare at the ceiling fan, carefully to avoid waking the sleeping blonde beside her. The fan was running at high speed, which was unusual for a December day, but totally legible regarding the events that had occurred earlier at the laundromat.

While she was focused on the motion of the fan, it wasn’t what she was thinking about. The brunette was too busy rewatching the series of situations that had taken place that day in her head. One in particular, to be exact. Because in spite of the fact that she’d already talked it out with Maca, she still found herself struggling to move past the fight. She pondered about the fire.  Because the problem was, that she knew the candle was where it was. She knew spreading her arms would make it fall over.

Zulema had never lost her cool during an argument the way she did that morning. But neither had she expected to hear Maca strongly stand by the idea of leaving her, after they’d spent the past two years together in an apartment. And on the subject of the car they burned, Zulema noticed a similarity; the thought of the blonde choosing to hit the road without her, made her feel like Maca was setting her ablaze, too. And even though she knew she deserved it, it had her coming apart at the seams.

Because the last thing she wanted to be in the blonde’s life, was nothing but an _anchor_.

For most of her life, freedom was all Zulema ever wanted. Years had gone by where she’d spent every hour of every day thinking of a way to escape prison. To Morocco, her goal would be. But never had she stopped to think of how it would feel until she felt it once, stepping foot in a clear blue ocean. She recalled how the others laughed together behind her, playing games and goofing around as if they were on any usual vacation. Saray in particular, who made everyone rejoice with her by virtue of her sparkling charisma. With that atmosphere, one would say it was odd that Zulema was the only one who didn’t share the euphoria.

For the first time, the goal she so strongly tried to achieve made her just as unhappy as her prison cell. Because just like prison, freedom was killing her slowly. Where she strived to stand in victory, she stood in defeat. She was crying, because of what she did to get there. And how it left her with the direct opposite of what she wanted.

She’d landed herself in another cell, one that was way harder to escape, because it was in her head. It was a slim cell, and the bars were made out of guilt, grief, and loneliness.

And that happened every time, in a cycle. The time she tried to kill her best friend for the same price, she knew that would forever weigh down on her. She knew she would never forgive herself, but she still deemed it a worthy sacrifice. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure why. Because what would be left of her if she made it to Morocco after she’d sacrificed every last individual who was ever good to her? After she’d filled herself with guilt she’d never be able to swallow?

Out of the blue, some movement in the corner of her eye distracted Zulema from her train of thoughts. She threw a glance at the woman lying beside her in bed and noticed how one of her blonde locks kept moving about each time she exhaled. It made her mouth curl into a smile as she carefully brushed the strand out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.

Observing the younger woman’s face, she thought about something she said during their argument.

“ _When you came to pick me up from prison because you didn’t want me to feel the way you did, you could’ve just told me you weren’t planning on staying_.”

The brunette rolled onto her back again, her eyes back on the ceiling fan.

That day marked the first time Zulema had heard the words ‘I wanted to see how you were doing.’ It was the first time she allowed someone to accompany her in something personal, which was visiting her daughter’s grave. Maca had managed to break right through her villainy to present to her a feeling of comfort, rather than just a great sense of vulnerability.

_Because she made her feel safe. _

Safe from prison, and from her mind. It was new to her and realizing how good it felt, it occurred to her how others would experience it. How they’d rejoice, just like she did. And just like that, the blonde had unconsciously shown her what compassion felt like, and selflessness. So what she really wanted, what she really tried to achieve within the years they were spending together, was for Maca to feel that way with her.

... but it was so that she’d stay.

Zulema realized that when she was pondering on the beach. It was another selfish act, while that was exactly what she was trying to avoid because she was in the process of bettering herself as a person. She wanted to mean something to the blonde, but she couldn’t force that. Macarena’s freedom wasn’t up for debate. So, she decided that her best solution was to let it happen. No matter how much she despised the idea of it. Because her happiness shouldn’t be at cost of someone else’s. Especially not that of—

Zulema froze. Her eyes widened, she brought down her gaze to look at her chest, where she was met with the top of Macarena’s head. Subsequent was her arm as it slid across her stomach, in sync with her right leg landing on the brunette’s legs.

“Go to sleep, Zule,” her groggy voice insisted.

Zulema’s bottom lip disappeared into her mouth as she swallowed. Only when she could soulfully trust her voice to stay monotone, she replied.

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like you’ve made it all the way through. Thank you so much for reading!✨

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, I'm @TheStarsUntold on twitter so if you want, stop on by!


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